


The Art of Escalation

by chronicopheliac



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Rutting, Season 2, Strip Tease, Will Graham is a master seducer, cannibalism mention, mild manipulation, semi-dark Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-16 23:58:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5845957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronicopheliac/pseuds/chronicopheliac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will is annoyed that Hannibal's always able to ruffle Will, but he can't ever seem to ruffle Hannibal back. He decides to dial things up to 11 with a surprise strip after dinner, and things go pretty okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Escalation

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't even the fic I'm trying to write, but okay, I saw this post on tumblr with a hot picture of Hannibal (go figure), and I had this idea. Unbeta'd/unedited, so apologies for errors. Hope y'all like it!
> 
> http://damnslippyplanet.tumblr.com/post/138138373761/sherlock-hannibal-pretty-boy-a-oh-look

The idea hits Will in the middle of a crime scene. He suppresses the wicked grin that’s trying to spread across his face by roughly rubbing his hand over it, determinedly staring at the dead body on the floor. Hannibal had remarked on the layers of flesh that had been pulled back so carefully from the victim’s chest, as though it were intended to tease whoever looked upon the body, only giving a glimpse of what’s underneath. The way Hannibal had said it, Will is certain he detected _something_ in his voice, not precisely arousal, but… well. He couldn’t have imagined it, anyway.

He had been trying to get under Hannibal’s skin the way Hannibal got under his, since getting out of prison (courtesy of Hannibal, the ass), but the bastard is so… disciplined, when he wants to be. It would have been easier, of course, had Will been able to hate him, but that’s been working out precisely not at all. Whatever it is that Hannibal started between them (and Will maintains that _Hannibal_ started it), Will knows he has to deal with it somehow.

He looks down at the body again and shoves his hands in his pockets. Hannibal’s eagerness for Will’s company hasn’t dulled one bit, but Will has been itching for a different approach. No matter how eager Hannibal may be, their ‘talks’ are still so subdued, thrumming with a kind of electricity that makes Will want to punch him, or tear out his throat, or anything but sitting there, politely sipping wine.

The urge to smile pulls at him again, his decision made. Of course, this is something he’s not going to be able to tell Jack.

 

A few days later, Will arrives at Hannibal’s house thirty minutes early, a bottle of scotch in hand. He’s dressed for the occasion, not that Hannibal is aware that there is an occasion, more elegantly than usual. He had actually gone out shopping for this plan, even asking a salesperson for feedback on colours and fabrics and cuts. He had settled on a solid black button up shirt with a charcoal grey tie, with a dark silver jacket and slacks. He even got a belt to match the damn tie, which he presently fussed at after ringing the doorbell.

Hannibal opens the door and immediately notices the bottle, raising an eyebrow as he steps back and gestures Will inside. Will’s certain he notices the suit as well, of course he does, but infuriatingly he does not comment on it. Will refuses to let it annoy him, at least overtly - the whole point of the evening is to get _Hannibal_ to lose his cool for once. 

“Good evening, Will.”

Will shoves the scotch at Hannibal rather abruptly as he enters the foyer, taking off his coat and tossing it onto one of the chairs against the wall.

“Hope I’m not too early. Is it rude to be too early?” Will raises an eyebrow at Hannibal smugly, then heads toward the kitchen, not waiting for Hannibal to respond. “Something smells good, so dinner’s at least _started_ , right?”

Hannibal smiles almost serenely as he shuts the door behind Will, setting the scotch down on a nearby table so he can grab Will’s coat and hang it up properly in the foyer closet.

“Actually that’s dessert. I’ve opted for something a little simpler for dinner tonight,” Hannibal calls after him. “Calf’s liver with parsley, garlic and fried potatoes.” He enters the kitchen behind Will and begins arranging the ingredients on the counter. “Since you are here, I would appreciate you assistance with the preparation.”

There’s a very strong urge, on Will’s part, to say something snarky at him in response, but he needs to focus on cultivating an aura of complete relaxation. If he’s going to pull off his plan at all, it won’t do to have Hannibal sensing any agitation in him. Instead, he assents with a nod, taking off his suit jacket and draping it on a barstool so he can help out with dinner without messing up his fancy new clothes.

 

Dinner is, as usual, incredibly delicious, even if the veal isn’t actually calf, and Will’s not sure whether he’s bothered more by the fact that he knows it’s not veal, or that he enjoyed it anyway. They chat about the killer Will is currently helping Jack to find - Hannibal’s insight into the workings of Will’s mind, helping him work out what he’s seeing and feeling, is still quite valuable after all - and the meal passes relatively amicably. Will is proud of himself that he’s managed to maintain a casual tone through the conversation, reasonably certain that Hannibal doesn’t sense anything is amiss. At least, he hasn’t figured out what Will is planning.

They clean up together, and Hannibal pours a scotch for Will as he’s drying the last of the dishes, choosing to finish the rest of the second bottle of wine they had opened during dessert (red wine poached pears, because apparently there is never enough wine) for himself. Will sips his scotch reservedly until Hannibal excuses himself for a moment, at which point Will downs the rest of the glass and pours himself another. A little liquid courage for his resolve. He also puts the suit jacket back on, as it’s part of the whole _performance_ , but takes off his shoes and socks and sets them aside, figuring it’s best to take preventative measures against any awkward stumbling.

Hannibal returns and sits on a bar stool, taking up his wine glass and swirling the liquid around, sniffing it as he usually does before taking a sip. Will downs the second glass as he turns away, setting the glass down next to the stereo that’s been wafting some classical music throughout the evening. He switches the music - less classical, more… sexy. Something to suit the mood he’s trying to create. He tamps down the flutter of nerves, that preemptive embarrassment that threatens to overwhelm him, just at the edges of his brain, and turns back to face Hannibal again, still sitting at the counter.

He doesn’t _really_ know what he’s doing, and he’s trying not to think about that, so he doesn’t bother trying to move along with the rhythm or dance. Hannibal is in the middle of trying to fix his sleeves, having rolled them up when they were cleaning, but seems to forget that he only rolled one down when Will takes a step toward him and takes off the suit jacket, letting it drop carelessly to the floor. Hannibal raises his eyebrows in a questioning look, but quickly schools it back into a rather hard, neutral expression when Will’s hands go up to his tie.

That’s encouraging. Hannibal’s face going neutral means he’s interested in what Will has planned, he wants to see what Will is going to do. Will wishes he had worn a vest as well, just to drag it out a little longer.

He works slowly at undoing the tie, not taking it off when it’s undone, but adjusting it to drape over his neck. He skims his fingers over the buttons of his shirt, and takes another step forward, watching Hannibal watching him. He undoes the cuffs first, then goes back to his chest, starting with the top button and slowly undoing each one, revealing a plain black t-shirt underneath. He keeps the shirt on for the moment, but let’s it hang loosely at his shoulders so that it slides down his arms a little. 

Hannibal is completely fixated, his eyes seem darker, and his right hand is flexing open, closed, open, then stays tightly in a fist. Will notices that Hannibal _isn’t_ noticing that Will’s observing his reactions, sees the slight twitch at the corner of Hannibal’s mouth.

Will can’t help but smirk a little, feeling more encouraged upon seeing Hannibal ever-so-slightly distracted, so he makes more of a show of his hands moving down his stomach, along the edge of his belt until his fingers reach the buckle to unfasten it. He pulls it off leisurely, then drops it to the floor with a clatter.

Another step forward, and he’s just close enough to lean forward to reach past Hannibal to grab his wine glass, drinking the last of it before setting it back down. He undoes the button on his pants, unzips the fly, and lets the pants slide down to the floor, managing to step out of them rather gracefully before kicking them aside. He shifts his arms so that the shirt also slides the rest of the way down his arms, and drops that as well.

A stabilizing breath, careful, not too deep so as not to seem nervous to Hannibal, and Will removes the t-shirt in one smooth motion, grateful that he doesn’t catch it somewhere on himself along the way. Hannibal’s lips part on a sharp inhale, eyes sweeping over Will’s entire body, now clad only in black boxers (not silk, but fine cotton, soft, not what he usually wears). He’s losing his composure, however slightly, and it sends a small thrill up Will’s spine, which pushes him to take the last step, bracketed between Hannibal’s thighs.

Feeling emboldened, Will glances downward to see an obvious erection pressing against Hannibal’s trousers, and the thrill traveled from Will’s spine to his cock, and through the rest of his body. Hannibal looks up, tongue flicking out over his lower lip, and there’s a question in his eyes. Will lowers his head in assent, feeling his own arousal stirring within him like fire, and Hannibal’s hands are tentative as he lifts them to the waistband of Will’s boxers, ghosting along the hem before curling his fingers to pull them down just below the curve of Will’s ass.

Will rocks forward slightly at the sensation, his eyes closing involuntarily. He has to reach out to brace himself on Hannibal’s shoulders, breath shaky and uneven. When he opens his eyes again, he sees Hannibal’s face, sees his upper lip twitch with something of a snarl, which Will realizes he finds _incredibly_ sexy, and wants to see it again. He tightens his grip on Hannibal’s shoulders, and Hannibal’s hands move again, up along Will’s sides, ribs, back down to his hips, then his backside, grabbing Will’s ass roughly. Will huffs out a soft moan and leans forward to touch his forehead against Hannibal’s.

He needs to regain control of himself, though it’s difficult with how his body thrums with heat and anticipation. Will’s not the one that’s supposed to be getting teased.

“Will…” Hannibal breathes.

“Shut up.”

Will tangles his fingers into Hannibal’s hair and tugs sharply, bringing their lips together in a crushing kiss. He feels Hannibal’s teeth clash painfully against his own, but he doesn’t care, his other hand twisting into the fabric of Hannibal’s sleeve, letting out a moan of satisfaction when he hears the fabric tear. Hannibal grips Will’s ass harder, standing up slowly without breaking the kiss, and Will can feel Hannibal’s upper lip twitch again, making him grin against it. He tastes blood, and that incenses him further, pressing himself against Hannibal, who is now leaning forward to get Will off balance so that he can lift him, encouraging Will to wrap his legs around Hannibal’s waist.

_That’s_ a little embarrassing, but Will forces the feeling aside, instead focusing on the gratification he feels at his plan exceeding any expectations he had. Hannibal carries him out of the kitchen, breaking the kiss only enough to see where they’re going, until they reach the stairs and he let’s Will down to his feet. Hannibal leans forward to nibble Will’s earlobe, pushing against his chest gently.

“Up.” It’s a command, but Hannibal’s voice is roughened with desire, so to Will it almost sounds like a plea. He has an urge to refuse, to go back and put his clothes back on just to mess with Hannibal, but his own lust is a much stronger urge, and so he turns obediently. He glances back at Hannibal with a lopsided grin and hurries up the stairs in a way he hopes at least isn’t _un_ sexy.

He assumes it worked when Hannibal is on him again the moment they reach the top of the stairs, and they stumble together, Will twisting in Hannibal’s arms just as they land against the wall. It sounds like something falls and breaks, but neither of them care as Hannibal grinds against him, shoving his leg between Will’s thighs to press against his cock. He can feel the fabric of Hannibal’s pants through his boxers, which is an interesting and new sensation, and Will moans harshly against Hannibal’s mouth, returning to his goal of tearing the likely expensive shirt, and messing up Hannibal’s hair. The shirt tears again, and Will feels skin, digs his nails into Hannibal’s flesh as he’s ravaged by Hannibal’s mouth on his neck, bites followed by licks and sucking bruises.

Hannibal lets out a rumbling moan at the sensation of Will’s nails on his skin, and finally tears them away from the wall to complete the journey to the bedroom. At the bed, Hannibal practically throws Will onto the mattress, his lip curling up in that little snarl again as Will makes a show of finally removing his boxers, arching pleasurably against the sheets. Hannibal unbuttons his vest, giving no consideration to performance as Will has, his breath heavy with exertion and arousal.

“Is this what you were expecting, Will?” He removes the torn shirt, tossing it to the ground, then getting to work on his trousers. “Is this what you wanted?” _Last chance to change your mind_ is what Will hears in the tone of Hannibal’s voice, husky with sex as it is.

Will shifts up to his knees and shuffles forward, pushing Hannibal’s hands aside to finish unzipping the pants, eyes never leaving Hannibal’s. He leans forward to kiss him, tugging Hannibal’s bottom lip between his teeth, then shoves the pants down so that they fall around Hannibal’s ankles.

“I’m not really sure what I wanted, actually.” Will withdraws slightly to allow Hannibal to step out of his pants and remove his shoes and socks. “But I’m not disappointed.”

As soon as Hannibal straightens again, Will grabs him and drags him down to the bed, rolling them so he can pin Hannibal underneath him. He takes a moment to look at Hannibal properly - his hair is in complete disarray, and his expression is no longer guarded or neutral, but something dark and wild, and Will assaults Hannibal’s mouth with his own as though he were starving and this was sustenance. He tugs impatiently at the waistband of Hannibal’s briefs, chuckling against Hannibal’s mouth when he feels Hannibal arch against him, moving a hand up to assist him in the removal of the offending garment. The underwear is tossed aside and Will is on Hannibal completely, their bodies flush against each other, the contact electrifying.

Will moves a hand down between them to align his cock against Hannibal’s, breath catching at the feeling of moving together with him. It’s overwhelming, having Hannibal’s body underneath him, arching up to meet his hips as he grinds down, precome slicking against their skin. Will nibbles his way from Hannibal’s lips to his jaw, his throat, along his collarbone and to his shoulder, leaning on one arm to brace himself above Hannibal while the other goes back to his hair, tugging roughly to expose more of his neck.

Hannibal moans rather wantonly, causing another one of those thrills to shoot through Will’s body, his rhythm getting more erratic as he feels Hannibal’s nails scratch painfully, pleasurably, down his back, then back down to his ass.

In between kisses and bites and heaving breaths, Will laughs, ducking his head against Hannibal’s neck. “You really like my ass, don’t you.”

“Yes.” Hannibal manages, and Will can only describe the sound of Hannibal’s voice as _wrecked_ , and his reply is so uncharacteristically straightforward, before Will realizes it, he’s coming in spasmodic bursts, semen spurting up to Hannibal’s abdomen, stomach, chest. Will reaches down to grip Hannibal’s cock, using the semen to stroke him rapidly, his hand squeezing just hard enough to almost be painful. It doesn’t take long for Hannibal to come after that, and Will is momentarily torn between watching Hannibal’s cock, or his face.

He decides on his face, watching Hannibal’s orgasm send tremors through his body, his eyes closing, lips parting to let out a guttural gasp. The tension in Hannibal’s body releases, then, and he exhales slowly, opening his eyes to meet Will’s gaze. The expression he has then, eyes heavily lidded and dark, mouth slack and open with panting breaths, could undo Will all over again were he not spent already. He has to look away, distracts himself by claiming Hannibal’s mouth in a deep and possibly desperate kiss. Hannibal hums against the kiss, and Will notices with a flush of warmth that Hannibal’s hands still haven’t actually moved from his ass, though the motions have gentled to something more passive, perhaps even affectionate.

Will relaxes against Hannibal and shifts slightly to his side, draping an arm and leg over him, resting his head on Hannibal’s shoulder. He runs his fingers through Hannibal’s chest hair, sticky with sweat and semen, and feels a grin creep across his face.

After a few minutes of silence and lazily roaming hands, Hannibal stirs.

“I must admit, Will, I’m curious as to what inspired this evening.” He covers Will’s hand with his own and brings it up to his lips, sucking each finger into his mouth to lick them clean.

Will hums in response, the combination of feeling sated and the warmth of Hannibal’s body has relaxed him into a sleepy peace, his mind feeling rather pleasantly muddled.

“A murder,” is all Will manages as he drifts off into sleep.

Hannibal chuckles, running his fingers through Will’s curls and kisses the top of his head before settling into sleep himself.


End file.
